Amidst the Ashes, a Flower Grows
by sirena.del.mar
Summary: Following the destruction of the Wizarding World at the hands of Lord Voldemort, Hermione travels back into his youth in order to snuff out the threat before Lord Voldemort fully assumes his role. She did not expect the Tom Riddle she found...
1. The Breaking Apart

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters with which I am having so much fun. I am merely the puppeteer rather than the craftswoman (i.e. Rowling herself)

Note: This is my first tentative attempt at writing something long-term. I will definitely need as much encouragement as I can get if I am to continue. Please, let me know via reviews if you believe this story has any potential to continue or if I shoud kill it while I'm able. Thank you!

****

We all knew that Harry could not defeat Voldemort and yet we persisted in our foolish errand, hoping that our innermost fears would be conquered in him, in Harry, our Savior. We were all naïve; we were all of us deceived by our optimism.

I remember the final day, that final battle. The sky was soaked with blood, the blood of muggles and wizard-born alike without distinction. The insanity of Voldemort and the blood-lust of his mindless slaves painted the world anew in their images. I cannot see the battle as a whole, merely in stained snapshots which blizzard throughout my subconscious while I sleep.

I see Ginny, young and fierce, lying face down in a puddle of blood and sludge and human waste. I see Ron facing a death eater without fear, spine erect and dignified; He died within seconds. His death, mercifully, was swift. I remember standing in a field of wheat, staring up at the unnaturally bleak sky with the Dark Mark suspended in smoke and shadow as my friends and schoolmates and teachers and neighbors died around me.

I watched Severus Snape pull off his mask and turn on his former companions. I watched him hurl curses at death eaters, carving his bloody way towards Voldemort in a misguided attempt to save Harry. I remember him finally being hurled into the sky by a giant wielding a heavy wooden club stained with fresh and stale blood.

I remember the silence that fell in the aftermath, the silence which was interrupted only by the sound of Harry's lifeless form falling peacefully into the wheat. His body, which had found no respite in his miserable life, had at last found repose in death. Even if that death came at the hand of his greatest foe, even if it came at the cost of thousands of innocent lives, I remember the peace in his face and feel comforted. He had no chance of living, of surviving, of conquering. But the chance at peace which he was unwittingly granted by his enemy, his conqueror, was a gift of no small consequence. I remember that.

I cannot explain how I managed to slink away into the shadows, or why I felt that my life was worth the exertion at all. But I found myself in the abandoned Great Hall, undisturbed by the death eaters or by any surviving students. In my mind, I believed the world ended, the school destroyed, humanity exterminated. And in this belief I took comfort, wrapping my broken body around it and feeding it, tiny piece by tiny piece, into my heart.

****

Note: Once again, please review if you believe this beginning shows any potential. I would like to continue, but I can never tell if it would be worth it or qualify as beating a dead horse. Help me out here, ladies and gentlemen.


	2. Sanctuary

Disclaimer: I still do not own anything

Note: Please Review! I need to have this bastardized work of fiction legitimized. Be the hero who swoops down and tosses me a proverbial bone.

What transpired in the long days following the great battle between good and evil, I cannot tell. I lost what little remained of my sanity, wandering the castle which had once been my home and was now nothing more than a mausoleum, a lifeless reminder of the past. The house elves had the good sense to hide themselves from me, leaving behind only the slightest traces of their inhabitance. A hot meal would suddenly be sitting on the floor in the library where I slept, fresh towels replenished themselves in the prefects' bathroom.

As I came into myself again, I spent long hours staring at particles of dust dance through beams of sunlight streaming through windows scarred by broken glass. I listened to the sound of my own breathing, the rustle of cloth as my chest rose and fell. I did not read, I did not speak, I could not sleep for more than three or four hours at a time. I would take long walks through the halls, never the same route. Once, I visited the Headmaster's office, but the gargoyle would not let me through without the password. I did not know the password. So instead of surrounding myself with Dumbledore's things, I sat on the cold marble floor and watched the gargoyle, hoping for some compassion from the stony guardian. I received none. Eventually, as the hours slipped away into dusk, I made my way back to the library.

That was the rule. I did not stray from my established holding after dark. There was nothing substantial to that rule, other than residual paranoia from before the war. But still, I held my illuminated wand close to my face and shivered from the cold and from terror as the castle grew chilly in the evening air.

Winter descended upon the castle.

I remained indoors and under covers. I was driven from the library by the blizzards carving their ways through the windows, and moved again into the Great Hall. I slept on an oaken table covered with spare robes I uncovered in the Room of Requirement. I avoided places of familiarity after Dumbledore's office would not open for me.

And as quickly as the world lost its mind, it regained it once more. The winter months spent bundled in old robes transitioned into a spring filled with new life and warm breezes.

I emerged from the Great Hall to find the castle breathing spring air deeply into its soul. The front lawn and the greenhouses were bursting with green. The lake was a stark blue, and once or twice I saw a merperson jumping in its waves out of the corner of my eye. I learned to smile again, spending great amounts of time out of doors, tending to the gardens near Hagrid's door. The elves fed me less and less, as I cooked game and vegetation outside on a fire I built myself without magic.

I chased rabbits, swam in the lake, laughed at the birds trying vainly to perch on the Whomping Willow. I sang to myself as I danced on the green carpeting of the front lawn.

I felt peace again. I was alone, and the world had split apart. But still, there was peacefulness in the world again. I could taste it in my mouth, smell it in the air, feel it in my bones.

Until the tainted present found its way back into my haven.

I was sleeping in the library again, having cleared out the rotted mess of many damp library books contaminated by the snow and rain of the winter. In my first life, I would have cried to see so many priceless tomes destroyed, but this me was not concerned with grieving over the inevitable. I was sleeping on the floor behind the librarian's desk when I heard the noise, noises I had not heard for months: the clattering of footsteps along the stone corridor floors.


	3. Transforming

I was lying on the floor when I heard the footsteps approach. Curled up behind the librarian's desk, I was hidden in the shadows. But still, the coppery taste of fear welled up in my mouth. Closer came the footsteps, and voices became audible from my vantage point under the oaken desk.

"How long's it going to be afore the Dark Lord gives up this search for one meaningless Mudblood?"

"Do not question our Lord's methods. He knows that she must be valuable to our cause, otherwise he would not have let her lived this long." My heart sank. They knew that I had been here all along? Why had they not destroyed me before? Many months had after between the Battle with nothing but silence from the Death Eaters.

"Well, alls I'm saying is that if he knew she were here all along, we should'a kilt her a long time ago."

"The Dark Lord does not wish to kill Miss Granger. He merely wishes to…_persuade her _to see reason, to join our cause now that the opposition has been annihilated." My hand grasped my wand all the tighter at these words. The voices had grown loud and faint once more, indicating that they had unwisely passed over the library doors without thinking to search the shelves for their quarry.

In the many long hours that followed, I meditated on my predicament. I reasoned that if two Death Eaters were visiting my home in the middle of the night, more would soon follow should their efforts prove fruitless in the quest of ensuring my capture. I was no longer safe in the castle.

In that moment, I knew what I had to do.

****

I had killed many wizards before, in the final battle when the sky rained blood. It had bothered me, in the beginning, that I had the blood of so many on my hands. But as time became the salve between that day and me, I grew to accept the reasoning that I had been presented with no alternatives. The same, I believed, was true of my situation at hand.

Thus, I found myself stalking the Death Eaters as though they were my prey. Slinking through the hallways, wand erect and eyes burning bright, I felt as though I had purpose. My business of death led me from the library to the dungeons and eventually to the greenhouses, my only illumination the moonlight bleeding through the broken windows.

The two mercenaries were exceptionally poor at their duty. Believing I could be nothing but a frightened little girl, they tramped over broken pottery and gravel without a second thought. I slipped through the door after them, the cold night air raising the downy hair on the back of my neck and on my freckled arms. Their time had run short. Near silent, I crouched down and crawled towards the two men, hidden by a long row of potted plants which had long since withered without attention.

"Sectumsempra!" I yelled, as I revealed myself to my pursuers. The two men whipped around in time for one to be gutted by my spell. He dropped his wand to the floor with a scream and clutched at his suddenly-open chest as innards and blood began to seep through his fingers. Gore dripped onto the floor as he fell to his knees, rendered useless. The other one, who I recognized as Vincent Crabbe, quickly raised his wand and attempted to stun me. I dodged the trail of dangerous light and rebuffed

"Petrificus Totalus," I muttered. Crabbe silently snapped to attention and toppled into a long trough filled with potting soil. His eyes roved maniacally left and right, communicating his fear and complete surprise at the identity of his attacker. Yes, I saw the recognition in those dark pupils. I stepped over his dying companion who lay, whimpering, on the floor in an expanding pool of his own blood and intestinal tract and stood before Crabbe's motionless form.

"You remember me, don't you? I'm her, Hermione. I'm the one you're searching for," I began. "As I do not have any Veritaserum handy, I cannot question you without…persuasion." His eyes glassed over with terror and anticipation at the thought of torture at the hand of his quarry. I smiled. "But I feel that your partner may be willing to provide information more readily, provided he still would prefer to remain among the living…" I looked pointedly at the man on the floor. He whimpered still, but looked imploringly into my eyes, begging me silently to heal his wounds. The only other sound was my accelerated breathing, heavy with adrenaline and anger.

"I can save you, Death Eater, if you tell me why your master is looking for me," I lied, ignoring the immobilized Crabbe for a moment. "What is your name?"

"It's…Louis…" he choked out, "Louis Diggory." The name shook me, but I could not let it register.

"Well, Louis. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"My Lord…did not say why you…were so important…only that we were to collect you from…'Ogwarts and bring you to him. Please, Miss, heal me like you promised." It became clear from the innocence in his face that he knew nothing other than what he told me. He was completely taken in by my deception. Useless boy.

I turned to Vincent Crabbe, still surveying me with fear in his eyes. "Avada Kedavra." His eyes, the only sign of his vitality in his encumbered state, faded and fell out of focus as the green light receded.

I turned back to Louis Diggory, traitor to his family, and opened my mouth to speak the last sentences he would hear in this life.

"Louis, there is nothing that can heal an attack by the curse with which I injured you. You are going to die on this floor, most deservedly. Know that Hermione Granger, last of the House of Gryffindor, has examined you and found you guilty of crimes against humanity. Your sentence, most apropos, is to be condemned to death." With that I once more uttered the Killing Curse and watched as the bolt of emerald magic flowed like water from the tip of my wand into Diggory's chest. His eyes rolled back and his gaping chest ceased all movement. He was dead.

I left the bodies to rot in the greenhouse. I did not believe that they deserved a burial of any design. I left the greenhouse and walked through the dewy grass into the castle, my castle, my home.

****

Later, in the Prefects' Bathroom, as I washed the grime and gore from my exhausted body, I cried. The anger and righteous indignation which had fueled my mercenary actions earlier had receded, and conscience had set in. I had become the thing which my friends and family had died fighting. I had killed two men in cold blood. I was no better than the Death Eaters.

I didn't care why Voldemort wanted me, I realized. It wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was staying alive and well out of his reach. I had to continue the fight that my friends had failed to complete. I had to destroy Voldemort and his regime of hatred and intolerance. As the stars slowly faded into blue sky, I sat in the bath tub and planned my revenge. It involved a small and winking hourglass and some outdated robes.


	4. Plans are Laid

Disclaimer: I am merely using the characters spawned by J.K. Rowling's imagination. All situations are of my own originality.

Author's Note: Thank you very much for the reviews! I have been so encouraged by all the nice things you have had to say about this story. I really do appreciate it. I apologize for developing the story so slowly; I am very picky about the product I put up for public viewing. I have a good idea of where I would like to take this story; I simply need to find the right way to articulate what is in my mind. One common theme in the reviews that I have received is that the chapters are very short. I find that if I prolong the ending of each chapter, I become bogged down in the mire of my own words. I will try to update often, but I want this story to remain as true to the original idea as I conceive it. And without further ado, I present to you- the readers- the fourth installment.

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The next morning, I arose with a newly found sense of purpose. After eating a plate of breakfast, discreetly provided by the ever-invisible house elves, I set out to search for the Room of Requirement. My bare feet padded on the stone floors as I headed towards the seventh floor of the castle, echoing in the high ceilings. Paranoia had compelled me to hold my wand erect, especially when turning corners. After the previous night, I felt that I could not be too careful in my self-preservation.

However, in mid-step, I stopped. A sudden thought had occurred to me, and I promptly turned around and began another path- towards the Headmaster's office.

I had not visited it since that first time when it barred itself from me. I did not know under what influence I strode toward it again, only that I felt the urgent need to be within its walls before I began to carry out my plan.

I stood in front of the gargoyle, staring directly into its eyes as it remained ever stoic even in the presence of a visitor.

I still did not know the password. So instead of attempting to persuade the gargoyle to permit my entry, I leaned against the marble wall and slid down into a sitting position across the hallway from the stony sentry and allowed my mind to wander.

Dumbledore would have anticipated Hogwarts to be overrun with Death Eaters in the case of the triumph of Voldemort. To what would he have set his password that would have eluded even the most brilliant and evil wizard the world had yet to face? What would Lord Voldemort overlook?

Lord Voldemort was a man fleeing his own mortality, attempting to remove any stain of humanity that remained on his name. Even as a young man, he changed his name, cut off his family, all in an attempt to remove relatable experiences from his life. He meant to become a monster, he meant to transform himself into something other than the weak little boy living in an orphanage with other children who hated and feared him to the point of exclusion. His humanity was the one thing he wanted to erase more than all else, more that the stain of muggle blood on the Wizarding community.

With that in mind, I collected myself and stood proudly before the gargoyle and spoke what I knew to be the password into Dumbledore's heavily guarded office.

"Tom Riddle."

The gargoyle slid sideways and made room for me to see the winding staircase leading up to the Headmaster's sanctuary. I smiled, sardonically, to myself, and climbed upward.

****

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Lord Voldemort paced angrily in front of a large gothic window overlooking an unsettled sea. His serpentine features were knit together in an expression of frustration. Alone in a large study, he pondered the threat that young Miss Granger could pose to his organization.

Hundreds of muggle-borns had been placed into servitude following his victory over Dumbledore's pathetic excuse for a resistance. And yet, more and more reports had flooded in concerning insubordination. The spirits of these muggle-borns were untamed because of one single, missing girl: Hermione Jean Granger.

They believed her to be the symbol of their unbroken will. Her disappearance had given rise to the speculation that she might still be alive. As the brightest witch of her time, she was hailed to be the savior of what was left of the rebellion against Voldemort himself. Despite the fact that she could have crawled away to die in her own filth in a puddle of mud somewhere not far from the field where Harry himself was slain, the mudbloods believed otherwise. And that belief bred…disobedience.

He had sent out two lower-level scouts to retrieve the girl from where he believed she would be hiding, but it had been hours since he had received any report from either of his men. He assumed they were incapacitated by Miss Granger.

Lord Voldemort touched the tip of his wand to his chin, pondering which of his lackeys he would next send to retrieve the girl who had unwittingly become a symbol of hope in a world he had worked so hard to inspire despair.


	5. Determination

Once again, I own none of these wonderful characters.

I know that the chapters are quite short, but I am updating them often so hopefully that will make up for the brevity. I focus on the product more effectively if it is of a manageable size (i.e. short). Thank you for the reviews, I love to hear comments about my work. Please do not hesitate to review more!

****

I entered the office and was shocked at the decay it had suffered in neglect and abandonment. The instruments which had, in years past, whirred and puffed smoke happily as the undertone to every conversation with Dumbledore were now covered in dust and lay silent on their tables.

The portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses were covered in grime. Beneath the filth, I could see the Heads lounging in their frames, some sleeping, others playing cards. They did not acknowledge me. I could see the Quidditch pitch through the window behind Dumbledore's chair overgrown with weeds and brambles.

The sight filled me with sadness.

"Ahem, Miss Granger?" I started as Dumbledore's voice pierced through the silent office . The portrait of Dumbledore smiled at me from the wall, and waved a frail hand.

"Headmaster? Is that you?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. I'd been wondering when you would finally come to see me. It has been several months. It is only polite, after all, to address your host." He winked at me.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I tried to enter your office once before, but I didn't know the password and the gargoyle…" My voice faded out as the tears I had swallowed for months on end, years, began to well up in my eyes.

"Come now, Hermione. I know the reason for your visit was not to blubber uselessly on the floor of my office, bemoaning your hardships to a mere whisper of your former Headmaster." Dumbledore pulled a handkerchief from his robes, but seemed to remember that he could not offer a cloth made of only acrylic paint and magic. He wiped his forehead, while I composed myself.

"No, Professor, you're right. That isn't why I am here. I'm here because last night the castle was infiltrated by two Death Eaters. I…dispatched them…but I fear only more will continue to arrive until Hogwarts is overrun."

Dumbledore nodded at me.

"I heard of the attack. Some of my fellow portraits followed you as far as the Great Hall. Tell me, Miss Granger, where did you follow them?"

I had not planned to tell Dumbledore about what occurred in the greenhouse. It may have just been my pride, but I balked at the thought of having to describe to a former teacher how I murdered two men in cold blood. And so, I lied.

"I followed them out of the castle and they led me to the entrance. Undetected, I watched them until they had left the grounds. I revealed myself and attempted to stun them, in order to question their purpose at my home, but they disapparated before I could get in a decent Stupefy."

Dumbledore nodded.

"It was probably not wise of you to expose yourself to them, especially since they are sure to report that information to their master."

I hung my head in mock disappointment, while sincere guilt growing larger in my gut as I lied to my professor.

"Yes, Professor. I realized that all too late."

"What is your plan now, that you have discovered the password to my office and sought my counsel?"

With that prompting, I began to elaborate my idea. I had not formed it quite completely, but what little I could surely speak, I did.

"Professor, I intend to journey to Tom Riddle's youth and cut him off at the knees. I will immerse myself into the culture of the forties and learn to blend in to the surroundings. When I have fully acclimated myself, I will travel to Hogwarts and apply to become a student. I will find Riddle, and kill him before he can become the murderer he is today."

Dumbledore fiddled with the end of his beard for a moment, lost in thought. I fidgeted, still standing before his portrait, like a schoolgirl awaiting judgment. After what seemed like at least a quarter of an hour, he spoke again.

"It could work, Miss Granger. But there is something you must know about your plan. The past has already happened. If you do travel backwards in time and attempt to murder a young Tom Riddle, you will undoubtedly fail."

"But why, sir? I can promise you that I shall not allow my intentions to become detected. Tom Riddle will have no idea of my directive until the very last."

"But, Hermione, think logically. The past has already happened, yes? You have already been in the past, in the 1940s at Hogwarts. You were there over half a century ago. And yet, Voldemort still came to power, still overthrew the alliance of witches and wizards who believed that all humanity was basically equal and basically good."

The idea that I had already traveled into the past boggled my mind. It was hard to imagine that I would not simply be traveling to, for example, an alternate universe. I would be traveling into events which had already transpired, which were destined to occur. My resolve hardened once more.

"Be that as it may, I must still try. If I do succeed, Harry might be here when I get back." Tears threatened to fall, welling up in my eyes.

"Very well, Hermione. I will not forbid you, nor do I have the power to enforce such a directive. Try, if you feel that you shall be met with success. The Room of Requirement will provide you with all the necessary trappings of traveling into the 1940s, excepting a Time-Turner. Unless I am mistaken, there is one in this small drawer behind my desk."

I moved to search for it, and upon opening the drawer, found eight Time-Turners lined neatly in a row. I chose one for myself, and shut the compartment.

"That is a long-term Time-Turner. You must turn it six times counter-clockwise while thinking intensely about the time you wish to visit. To reverse the travel, you need only change the rotations to clockwise."

I nodded, and slipped the long golden chain around my neck.

"Thank you, Professor. You have given me great insight."

Dumbledore scratched the bridge of his nose and chuckled softly.

"Oh Hermione, I am not your professor at all. I am merely a portrait, a copy of the professor you knew. Take my advice or discount it completely, but do either with the assurance that you can only trust me to say what _you _would imagine your Dumbledore to say."

Without reacting, I turned on my heels and returned through the door to the spiral staircase descending to the gargoyle. I was once again heading towards the Room of Requirement.


	6. Let's Take a Cruise!

A/N: I apologize profusely for the obscenely long delay between posts. I took a pretty serious hiatus and ended up in New Mexico for awhile. But now, I'm back and ready to write! Thank you to all of the people who have reviewed this story, it really means a lot. As I tentatively dip my toes into the pool, please, shout some encouragement in my direction. I could use all the help I can get.

Dumbledore's logic had twisted its insidious way into my mind, planting seeds of doubt in my plan of retribution against a lifetime of bloodshed at the hands of Lord Voldemort. As my shoes echoed through the stone hallways towards the Room of Requirement, I tried to push his verbose prophecies of doom out of my head and instead focus on the intense satisfaction I would feel at the moment in which I would exterminate Lord Voldemort from this world. My fists clenched, knuckles white.

An hour later, I stood in the Room of Requirement surrounded by antiquated robes and school uniforms. The skirts were longer, robes baggier with a more prominent collar. I folded these items of clothing into a large wooden trunk. I organized items into the trunk silently, the act of arranging reminding me of my school years. I thought back to when I first learned I was to become a witch, organizing and re-packing all of my new things again and again until Mum screamed that it was time to go, you'll be late Hermione. Then, I was excited to make friends and learn things those awful children back in Primary could never imagine. Now, I was excited to travel back in time over 60 years to murder a psychopath. Life's funny sometimes.

Eventually, I was ready. I sat checking and double-checking my belongings until I finally was assured that I was the most prepared time-traveler to ever exist.

Oh. One more thing.

I thought intensely about how I would need money to survive in the Wizarding World, and three swollen bags of gold appeared at my feet. I counted it out, to discover that the Room of Requirement had generously supplied me with 200 galleons.

I felt as though I should position myself somewhere more momentous than the Room of Requirement. After all, I was planning on traveling backwards in time with the intent of destroying the most powerful wizard that ever lived. I had hid myself away in the castle, I had survived, I had even committed murder. I was no longer the little schoolgirl my friends once died to protect. With these thoughts in mind, I shrank my luggage and tucked it neatly away in a pocket of my new clothes and walked out from the Room of Requirement.

Where would I go to start my journey? I knew that I would travel backwards in time, not in location. I didn't want to appear at Hogwarts first. I wanted my acclimation to the 40s culture to be complete. I would need to Apparate to another, more secure location. But where?

It came to me in an instant.

My parents had often spoken about a cruise liner that my great grandmother had worked for out of Florida. Maybe if I could Apparate to the right dock, I could board a cruise ship bound for Britain, and spend all that time practicing my new identity on strangers. Once that I felt I was ready to face Voldemort, I could always Apparate from the cruise ship to the gates of Hogwarts. I would find Professor Dumbledore, and tell him of my plans. With any luck, he would swallow predictable qualms about killing one of his students and help me. Yes. That's what I would do.

I closed my eyes, gripped my wand tight, and Apparated to a Florida beach.

A young couple stared at my strange clothing as I hurried along the sand towards the nearest port. I would have to find a harbor and then a hiding place where I could safely operate the Time-Turner undetected. When I was in the past, I would emerge from my foxhole and purchase a ticket on the next cruise to London.

My plans were already making more sense. I was drunk with the anticipation of the kill that lay so far ahead of me.

Lord Voldemort was notified that an Apparition had taken place at Hogwarts that morning. He cursed himself, hoping that it was nothing more than a Death Eater or a House Elf and _not_ Hermione Granger. But in his heart, or what passed for a heart, he knew that Hermione Granger had eluded him once again. If only he could have detected where exactly she Apparated _to_.

He paced his large, imposing study and wracked his thoughts for a plan. The Mudbloods were staging an all-out rebellion. News of Hermione's escape would not bode well for Voldemort or his men. Attacks on guards were a daily occurrence. Inquiries from Muggle police forces were a constant irritation. Sometimes Voldemort wished that he could just kill them all and have done with it. If he had known that running the largest slave-enterprise in the world would be such a _hassle_, he never would have made such a fuss. It was Dumbledore that he wanted, Dumbledore whose approval he craved. But Dumbledore was dead, and so Lord Voldemort would settle for the next best thing: total world domination.

Starting with a particularly annoying, bushy-haired Mudblood named Hermione Jean Granger.


	7. Florida in the Forties

Author's Note: Thank you very much for continuing to read this story. Honestly, what brought me back to completing it was the fact that even after all this time, there are still hits for it. So I'm going to work on it some more. I don't really have a clear idea of where it's going, anymore. I thought I had the backbone all worked out, but sometimes, you just really don't feel so great about the story-line after a couple of months. I'm just letting the words come as they please. Hopefully the result will be…palatable. **Please review!** It's proof that there's a reason to continue.

Lord Voldemort was…less than pleased upon learning that Hermione Granger had murdered his two Death Eaters. Sitting in the main hall of his stronghold, he frowned as a lesser Death Eater shook in prostrate before him. Sometimes, the obsequiousness of his followers rankled him. Their obviously insincere flattery was just too much to handle.

"Please, my Lord, may I return to my family now?" The Death Eater practically sobbed the request into the floor. Voldemort was disgusted.

"Of course you may, Jeffers. _You _didn't fail me. The two idiots who did fail me already got their reward. Go home." Voldemort waved the subservient Death Eater away.

"All of you, get out now", Voldemort ordered his attendants away, leaving only himself in the main hall. He sighed and let his head fall between his hands, massaging his temples. The ceremony and the protocol were driving him crazy. What was left to accomplish, now that he overthrown Dumbledore's power? What was left to live for, now that Dumbledore was dead? It had never occurred to him to take a wife, that part of him had been lost when he had reclaimed his body. He was frozen in a world he could never adapt to, completely alone, without purpose.

And this Hermione girl was giving him a headache to boot.

I found a large harbor about a mile down the beach from where I had Apparated. I walked away from the ocean and towards a large cement building. Admittedly, it looked abandoned and foul-smelling, but that was perfect for my purpose. Maybe, just maybe, it would still be standing in the 40s. At least, I hoped that another building wouldn't be on top of me.

I walked in through the gaping doorway and saw that the building was filled with old printing machines. It was a print shop, maybe for a magazine or a publishing company. I figured that I would still have to hide, but that this would do for my location while I operated the Time Turner.

I walked through the debris, in through another door-less frame, and found a bathroom, or what used to be one. The toilets were crumbling away, the sink had fallen to the floor, and all porcelain had wilted to a sickly shade of gray. I edged into one of the two remaining stalls and sat on the remains of a toilet. It creaked and groaned under even my slight frame. I pulled the Time Turner from underneath my robes and peered into its sandy interior. If I did this, there would be no turning back. There could be no undoing of my action at this precise moment. I would be bound, not by necessity, by honor and duty to my fallen friends. I _had _tosave my friends. I _had _to bring them back. Killing Lord Voldemort seemed like just the right plan.

I made sure one last time that all of my possessions and luggage were safely tucked away, and then turned the Time Turner six times counter-clockwise. Six times turned an hourglass and with such small a gesture, changed the course of history, future, and past for all time.

I unclenched my eyes to see that the toilet on which I sat was gleaming and polished, bolted firmly to the wall. I could hear printing presses humming and whirring, the noise muffled by the shining tiled walls of the lavatory. I heard a woman whistling a song as she stood at the sink, no doubt checking her makeup or washing her hands. I let go the breath I hadn't realized was still locked away in my chest, and unlocked the stall. The woman at the counter saw e in the reflection of the mirror, and it was then that I understood a terrible mistake on my part. I had dressed with the intention of fitting in with the 1940s magical community, but had forgotten completely about Muggle fashion and styles. The woman at the sink wore a striped dress with a large collar, and a hat to match. I was wearing a dated Hogwarts uniform underneath black baggy robes. The contrast was laughable. I needed new clothes.

"Nice uh…digs you got there, sweetheart. Did I see you come in?" The woman at the counter asked through the reflection. My stomach was in knots. How could I explain this situation to her.

"Thank you. I'm not from around here, I dressed for the wrong weather, I suppose. I was wandering around the harbor, and stopped in for the loo." I did not address her question, but gave her an inadvertently airtight alibi for my strangeness. "Would you mind pointing me in the direction of a clothier that could provide me with some appropriate wear for this _humid_ weather?"

It was humid. Being in Florida was like trying to live underwater.

"Sure thing, honey. There's a real cute boutique right down the street, owned by a lady named Jillian. Go right on in, and she'll set you up with a true Florida wardrobe." The woman smiled and pulled a cigarette from a small handbag on the counter. "Have a light? I never carry any matches, the men usually rush to my assistance. But, alas, this is the one place that there will never be a man to hold a light for me." She smiled as I shook my head 'no' and put the cigarette in the crease of her hat. "You didn't say your name. I'm Carol Albright. I'm a secretary for , the manager of this print shop."

I swallowed the anxiety that was rising in my throat and answered Carol.

"I'm Jean. Jean Granger."

Better not to use my real name, I reasoned, in case this woman turns out to be a distant relative or some obscure historical family friend.

"Pleased to meet you, Jean, pleased indeed. Well, I'm on my lunch. How's about I walk you down to that boutique and give you some proper advice for your new clothes?"

How could I say no? She was so insistent, and it had been so long since I had spoken with another female. I nodded my head, and she offered me her arm. We walked arm in arm from the bathroom and out onto the bustling street of the harbor. The sun was blinding at this time of day, and my robe was painfully unable to breathe. My skin was trickling with beads of sweat as we arrived at Jillian's Fine Boutique. The air conditioning felt like heaven as I was directed to a dressing room.

I might as well get myself acclimated to this time period, I rationalized. I may not have had all the time in the world to make new friends and shop, but I had been sleeping on a table in a drafty castle for months, and it was about time that I relaxed a bit. I smiled into the dressing room mirror, and asked for the next outfit to try.


End file.
